


Like Ships in the Night

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard has been back in London for a year. It’s time to choose a holiday destination. He has two choices. Will he be practical or will he follow an impulse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After “My Favorite Year” got a comment about not providing an instant reunion, I got to thinking about a storyline with a faster resolution. I found it hard to imagine Richard Poole doing ANYTHING on an impulse. He’s too much of an emotional coward to change his ways without a reason. But I was determined to get him to do it, so here’s my attempt. And for readers who like their ending right away, I’m posting all chapters at one time.

He was something of a legend around the station. How could a man spend a year in the Caribbean and come home absolutely fish-belly white? And why would anyone want to leave a job in paradise to return to cold, rainy, London? His track record was legendary, too. Supposedly, he’d had a record-setting clearance rate. So good, in fact, the Met had brought him home, feeling his talents would be put to better use in London.

Detective Inspector Richard Poole had been in London for a year, and nobody at the station knew him very well. To say he was self-contained was an understatement. He rarely joined the other detectives for drinks at the pub on a Friday evening. If he was at the station during lunchtime, he sat at his desk and read. One of the men noticed that Richard seemed to start a new book every day at lunch.

“Can’t find one you like?” asked the young officer.

“No, I quite like this one. I enjoy a great variety of works, both fiction and nonfiction.”

“But you didn’t finish the one you were reading yesterday.”

“Oh, I finished it last night after supper.” Seeing the look of doubt, Richard added, “Speed reading.”

The superintendent of the station gave up on assigning a permanent partner to him. It wasn’t that the others disliked him. But DI Poole didn’t seem to need anyone. His various partners all said that they felt superfluous. On his annual review, the superintendent suggested that Poole needed to work on his interactions with others. 

Richard looked at the report. The system allowed him to file answers to any points brought up in the report. His clearance rate was still extraordinary, his paperwork exemplary. The only “needs improvement” item was interaction with other officers. The superintendent had been honest during their conference. This was the only thing standing between Richard and becoming a Detective Chief Inspector. 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard did try harder to be a team player, but it just didn’t come naturally to him. Only once had he felt like a member of a team. Of course, it hadn’t started well.

> I can’t work with her!  
>  _I can’t work with him.”_  
>  Why don’t you go back to Gualeloupe?  
>  _Why don’t you go back to England?_  
>  I’m trying!  
>  _Try harder!_  
> 

It hadn’t ended well, either. It was the hottest August on record. He and Camille had been at each other’s throats for weeks. She kept pushing him, trying to get under his skin. In moments of weakness, he admitted to himself that he wanted her. But she was off limits. Rules were rules. The offer of a transfer seemed like a godsend and he grabbed it. But some days he wondered…

He had a new partner, DS Sheila Connors. When the superintendent introduced them, they shook hands, said hello. No shouting, no fireworks. Connors was pleasant enough, and they worked well together. She was patient with his slow methods. She never huffed or rolled her eyes, or pulled a pen out of his hand. She respected his boundaries, never tried to get him to open up. The perfect partner. But some days he wondered…

-o-o-o-o-

Then came the phone call that changed Richard’s life. His mother’s uncle Richard died. He had been Richard’s godfather. Although he lived in Yorkshire and Richard didn’t see him often, they’d written to each other almost weekly. Uncle Richard would send the young boy history books. Richard would read them, and send back his thoughts on each book. His uncle was the inspiration behind Richard’s choice of history as a subject to study at university. All through his adult life, Richard cherished the relationship with his uncle. And now his uncle had left him three hundred thousand pounds. Richard was utterly gobsmacked. His uncle had lived simply, in a small house crammed with books. Nobody knew he had so much money.

Richard didn’t tell anyone at the station about the inheritance. There was no point, really. He just wanted to go back to a routine. Routine was comforting. He began to wonder if he should see a therapist, now that he could afford it. This clinging to routine was getting to be a little OCD.

-o-o-o-o-

Once again, the round-robin of selecting holiday weeks arrived. Richard hated this. He never knew what to do with time off. Sometimes he and Uncle Richard would take a history pilgrimage together. He smiled as he remembered walking the walls of York. His uncle had taken to signing his letters “Richard of York” after that. They’d explored Hadrian’s Wall, and Uncle Richard had made a point of showing his nephew the display case that contained dice. Finding dice at an excavation of a Roman fort wasn’t a surprise. But it had amused Uncle Richard that the archaeologist had played with them—and noticed that they were loaded. Cheating, it seemed, was nothing new.

Nostalgia for his uncle made Richard think about another visit to Hadrian’s Wall. Just as he had done with Uncle Richard, Carlisle to Wall End, and stops along the way. 

He opened a mapping website to look at Corbridge and Hexam. Meaning to open a file for new maps, he clicked on “recent maps” instead. Up popped the map of Saint Marie. He had looked at it more times than he wanted to admit. He zoomed in and found Honoré. He could find the Honoré police station on the satellite image. If he followed the road up the hill, he could pick out Camille’s house.

He’d stayed in touch with the team for a while, but he ran out of things to say. It was always sunny on Saint Marie, always cloudy in London, same old, same old. Okay, so that wasn’t always true. It did rain on Saint Marie, and London did have spells of beautiful weather, despite its reputation for rain. After a while, it was only Fidel who emailed him. Richard had a file on his laptop of pictures of Rosie. She had been such a tiny thing when he held her, and now Fidel said she was a little terror, running all over the house. 

Fidel threw in news of the team, stories of Dwayne’s full-moon parties and subsequent hangovers, Camille’s arguments with her mother over blind dates. It sounded as if Saint Marie was the same as it always had been. Only Rosie seemed to be changing. Richard rarely wrote about his life, such as it was, but somehow on this night, he wanted to share a story. So he started an email to Fidel. After the usual how-is-everyone chat, he started his story.

> My uncle died recently. My mother’s uncle, actually. I’m named for him and he was my godfather. Ever since I was old enough to write, I corresponded with him. When the internet arrived, he refused to use email. He had a computer and internet, but he liked letters, proper letters delivered by Post. Postcards were marginally acceptable, as long as I didn’t write “Having a lovely time,” or “Wish you were here.” I think I sent him every view of Saint Marie, always struggling for something NOT trite to say. And I wrote proper letters, too. When Mum cleared out his house, she found a box of letters I’d written over the years. As a kid, writing whatever came into my mind, I had no idea he’d keep that sort of memento, even though I’d kept some of his. It seems strange to have gone several weeks without a letter from him dropping through the slot.  
>  So many of his friends had already died—he was in his nineties, after all—that the funeral was small. I noticed a woman sitting in the back, weeping copiously but silently. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that I am not comfortable dealing with weeping women. But I had to talk to her. So I offered her a fresh handkerchief—she had been using a real lace-edged hankie. I thought only Mum still did that. Anyway, I introduced myself, which only made her cry more. Honestly, Fidel, I don’t know why I have such a bad effect on women, but there it was again. She told me that she and Uncle Richard had been in love “about a million years ago,” or at least she thought they were. But he was more interested in his history books than anything else. And then he left their village in Yorkshire to go to London to work for Military Intelligence, codes and ciphers and such. She gave up on waiting and married someone else. He returned to the village but never married. I think she may have been the reason why. I told her about writing to Uncle Richard and asked if I might write to her. I explained about the real letters and she laughed. So we email. It’s like having a grandmother again. She often says that I’m just like Uncle Richard. I suppose I am.  
>  Goodness, this certainly is an uncharacteristically long email from me! Must be Mary’s influence.  
>  Richard 

Richard went back to the task of making holiday plans. He saw some interesting hotels in the small towns along the Wall. It would be good to reconnect with Roman history. He hadn’t read anything on the subject in ages. Then he could hear Mary clucking her tongue and saying, “You’re just like your Uncle Richard.” And this would be one of the times she said it in exasperation, not with affection. 

“Oh, screw the Romans!” Richard opened the station calendar, claimed the week after next, and started making plans.


	2. Chapter 2

Camille, too, was becoming something of a legend. The woman who had been on more blind dates than anyone on the planet. As she was leaving the station to go home to dress for yet another pointless evening, Fidel stopped her.

“Hey, Camille?”

“Hmm?”

“If you get a chance some time tonight, check your email. I forwarded an interesting story to you.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

Camille pulled a dress out of her closet. As she did this, another dress fell to the floor. She swore and threw it to the back of the closet. “I don’t know why I even keep that old thing,” she grumbled. She’d almost worn it three times, and each time, she’d put it back. She thought of it as the Dress for the Date that Didn’t Happen. 

She had more than enough time. Maybe Fidel’s story would get her mind off him—not that she thought about him—no, she really didn’t. Much.

So she opened her laptop, logged on, and read the email Fidel had forwarded. Of all the stories in the world to read, this had to be the worst, given her state of mind lately. It was them, history was repeating itself. What was that stupid thing Richard used to quote? If you didn’t learn from history you’d have to repeat it? She’d laughed and said, yes, if you didn’t learn the subject you’d have to repeat the course. He’d tried to explain that the meaning was more important than that. Richard and his damned history books. BOTH Richards and BOTH sets of books! 

Once the tears started, there was no stopping them. She called her mother to beg off. 

Five minutes later, Catherine Bordey stormed into her daughter’s house.

“What is it this time? I don’t know what to do with you, Camille! When you were seventeen, I was afraid you would run off with that boy you were with constantly. Now, I can’t get you to date a man more than once.”

“I’m sorry, Maman. I just … can’t … I don’t want …”

“Camille, some knight in shining armor is not going to ride up the hill on his white horse. Men aren’t perfect. You have to accept them faults and all. And you won’t know if you’ve found one you can love unless you at least give them a chance.”

Camille sniffled and said, “I know, but …”

“It’s been a year, Camille. He isn’t coming back. He has moved on to a new job and new friends and a new life. Maybe he’s even got a girlfriend.”

The tears started up again.

“Oh, for pity’s sake! Go to London, then. Get him out of your system. Knock on his door, throw yourself at him. He’ll be awkward and embarrassed and tell you to go home. Then at least you’ll be sure.”

Catherine left, slamming the door behind her.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was surprised when his phone rang at 10:30. Nobody ever called him that late.

“Hello?”

_“Hello Richard, it’s Mary.”_

“Mary! Has something happened? Is everything all right?”

_“Everything is fine. Something wonderful has happened! You’re doing the right thing, I just know it. I couldn’t wait to send you an email. I had to call. Thank you!”_

“Why are you thanking me?”

_“I know you’re doing it for you and for her. As you should. But you’re doing it for us, too. So God Bless you for that!”_

“I hope it’s the right thing. I’m spending Uncle Richard’s money, I hope he’d approve.”

_“It doesn’t matter if he approves or if I approve. This is for YOU. Go have a life, Richard.”_

“It’s insane. But I can’t change my mind. It’s a nonrefundable ticket, and if I were to burn that, Uncle Richard would haunt me. You know the reputation of Yorkshire folk and how they like to hang onto their brass.”

_“Well, he left you plenty, so enjoy it! And buy me a souvenir. Get your girl to help you pick out something cheerful.”_

“Mary, she isn’t—”

_“La, la, la, I can’t hear you.”_

“What?”

_“That’s what my granddaughter says when she doesn’t like what someone says to her. Now listen, Richard. No suits, no ties. I know that you do own some casual clothing. For pity’s sake, pack that. If you really want to do this, you need to begin as you mean to go on.”_

“I know.”

_“And bring her to Yorkshire on your honeymoon!”_

Mary hung up before Richard could answer her. 

-o-o-o-o-

It was a sultry afternoon in Honoré. The Chief of Police had just come back from an early liquid lunch. Dwayne thought that it was a good thing they didn’t have a case, because it would be just the two of them to deal with it. Dwayne loved to party, but at least he knew to do his drinking and partying and cuddling on his own time.

Fidel looked at Dwayne and they rolled their eyes as the Chief said he was going back to the cells to have a nap. They heard a knock on the door, which was odd because nobody knocked on the door to the police station. The doors were always open.

“Anybody home?”

Dwayne and Fidel looked at each other. They both mouthed, “oh, shit!”

“Chief!” said Dwayne, standing up.

“No, Dwayne, just Richard. I’m on holiday. Hi, Fidel, how are Juliet and Rosie?” 

“They’re fine sir, I mean, Richard.”

“Where’s the rest of the team? Out on a case?”

“Out like a light,” muttered Fidel. “Chief Armstrong is taking a nap.”

“Oh, and, um…’

“Camille is on holiday,” said Dwayne. “She didn’t say where she was going. She and Catherine had a hell of a blowup, and Camille said she needed to go away for a week.”

“A week.” 

“Yes. How long are you here for?”

“A week.” 

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged glances. They both had the same thought. _SHIT!_

“Come have a drink with us after work,” said Dwayne.

“Ahh, I’d rather not, um, here in town, um, could you come out to the Grotto? I’m staying there.”

When he saw Dwayne’s eyebrows go up, Richard explained, “Gift from a rich uncle. Chance of a—HOLIDAY of a lifetime and all that. I’ll meet you on the Terrace Bar.”

After Richard left, Dwayne said, “I read the email. I didn’t want to tell him where she’s gone. You know why he’s here, right?”

“Yeah. How can we keep him here?”

“I don’t know, we need a plan. You’re the sergeant, come up with a plan.”

“You’re the devious one, you come up with a plan!”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille fumed. Her flight was cancelled. She was booked on the first flight out in the morning, but she’d have to spend the night in an airport. WHY were connections between Saint Marie and London so terrible? She hated connecting flights, and this was why. The airline had arranged hotel rooms, and she paced in hers. She must be crazy, she thought. She was in Paris. That’s wasn’t exactly “stuck.” There was a time when she’d be thrilled to be in Paris. 

Her mother was right. She was crazy. He’d look at her like she was an escaped lunatic. She was headed for total mortification. But she had to know. Meanwhile, she should treat herself to a good Paris meal. She was about to go out when she got the phone call.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard sat relaxing in the shade, cold beer in his hand. It really wasn’t as bad as he’d remembered it. Of course, the short-sleeved shirt and ocean breeze helped a lot. The hotel designers must have looked very carefully when choosing the location for the terrace. This spot was ideal. The website showed it at night, lighted by lanterns and candles in hurricane shades. He had imagined—but no, not going to happen. 

When Dwayne and Fidel arrived, they found Richard scowling at his phone.

“Problem?” asked Dwayne.

“No seats on tomorrow’s flight.”

“But you just got here!” said Fidel. “Juliet will kill me if you don’t come to supper one night.”

“And you have to see Rosie,” added Dwayne. “Little charmer, that one. Got her daddy wrapped around her little finger.”

Fidel’s phone rang. He saw the caller ID and said, “Sorry, I need to get this.” He walked away from the table and spoke softly.

When he returned he said, “Sorry, I need to get going. Juliet’s aunt has been taken ill, and she doesn’t want to take Rosie with her to the hospital. Dinner tomorrow or the next night, so don’t go home!”

Dwayne stayed to have dinner with Richard. There were two possible plans, “jealousy” and “desperation.” Dwayne started on the “jealousy” scenario. As they chatted, Dwayne worked in comments about various blind dates that Catherine had set up for Camille. He made a point of including remarks like “and, so of course, that was the end of THAT guy.” He hoped he got the balance right, showing that there were possibilities, but Camille was trying her best not to go after any of them.

Fidel’s phone call had not been from Juliet. At least now he had a time frame to work with. On the way home, he went back to the station and went through the files. If “jealousy” didn’t work, the other plan was definitely “desperation.” Because he really didn’t want to do this unless they were desperate to keep Richard on Saint Marie. About the only worse thing he could think of would be to arrest Richard. Dwayne had suggested that. Arrest them both, lock them in a cell, and close the station while they went out for lunch. Fidel had pointed out that, with the Chief likely sleeping off his lunch in the other cell, it wouldn’t exactly be romantic. 

Fidel struggled with his conscience. Was it falsifying evidence if you used old photos and information to fake a crime? With Camille gone and the Chief no more than a paper-pusher, it would make sense to “draft” a DI who just happened to be on the island. He wondered how long they could fake a crime without Richard catching on. Long enough, he hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

Fidel got to work early the next day. He set up the white board and scribbled a few comments. When Dwayne arrived, he looked at the board.

“Nice. Looks real.”

“It is real. Was real,” answered Fidel. 

The Chief walked in. 

“Good morning, Chief,” said the two officers.

“Yeah, morning. Is that a new case? We didn’t have anything yesterday.”

“Uh, no sir,” said Fidel. “I was just reviewing a past case.” He looked at Dwayne in panic.

Dwayne rose to the occasion. “Yes, Chief, this one is coming up in court soon. Fidel will have to testify. I might, too. So we thought since it’s a light day, we’d use the time to refresh our memories.”

“So no new case?”

“No, sir.”

“Good, good. Doesn’t look like I’m needed. Think I’ll go home. Call me if something happens.”

They watched the Chief saunter out. Dwayne looked at Fidel and grinned, “We just caught a break.”

Late that morning, Richard arrived at the station. 

“I came into town to get a few souvenirs. Thought I’d stop by. Still quiet?” he asked.

“No, we've got a new case.” answered Dwayne, suddenly very busy with his computer.

“So the DI is on site, then?”

“Um, no,” said Fidel. “He’s, uh, at home. Not feeling so well, you see.”

Richard shook his head in disgust.

“It’s kind of tough with Camille gone and the Chief, well, you know. Do you think you could give us a few hours, help us out?”

“That would really be a help,” said Dwayne. He grabbed the dummy evidence bags they’d put together and said, “I’ve got to get a package to the airport for the flight to Guadeloupe, so if you could go to the scene with Fidel?”

“I’m not sure what the proper procedure is. Chain of evidence and such, since I’m not assigned here. I can’t interview anyone. But I’m happy to take a look at the scene. Fidel, do you want to tell me what you’ve got so far?”

Fidel was nervous. Dwayne was the better liar. But he was also the better one to deal with the airport situation. Behind Richard’s back, Dwayne gave Fidel a thumbs-up and left the station.

Fidel took about fifteen minutes to go through the crime information. Then he asked Richard for his thoughts. This bought them another fifteen minutes while Richard looked at the pictures and hmmed and thought.

“There’s something off,” he said, pointing to one of the pictures. 

Fidel was relieved that Richard had spotted the photo that didn’t go with the others. It was the one he had taken at the beach that morning.

“I know. There’s something odd about the way the vegetation is disturbed.” Very odd, he thought. He’d trampled it this morning.

“All right then. I guess we’d better take a look.”

Outside the station, Richard groaned at the sight of the motorcycle and sidecar. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh. I see Dwayne took the Rover. Don’t worry, I don’t drive the way he does. It’ll be fine.”

They donned helmets and goggles and Fidel did, in fact, drive more slowly than Dwayne would have. They got to the beach, and Fidel pointed to a clump of palm trees. Richard headed in that direction, and Fidel checked his messages.

_on time ___

__Fidel looked at the time of the message and the current time. He reckoned he’d wasted just enough time to make this work._ _

__-o-o-o-o-_ _

__One of the good things about being a cop is that you can park your car anywhere you want and nobody gives you grief about it. Dwayne got to the airport and parked in a security zone. He checked the arrivals board and saw that the flight had just come in. Fifteen minutes to get luggage from such a small plane, and they’d be on their way. He sent a text to Fidel to confirm that all was on schedule._ _

__“Dwayne!” Camille cried when she saw him. She let go of her bag and threw her arms around him._ _

__“How bad is it? Will she be okay? Is she conscious? Did she ask for me? Oh, God we had that fight and I hadn’t apologized properly and if anything—”_ _

__“Shh, Camille, she’s going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. Come on.” Dwayne took her bag and led her out to the police car. As they headed back toward Honoré, he managed to avoid telling Camille any more details, so she sat and fidgeted. When she wasn’t looking, he readjusted the choke. The Rover started to splutter._ _

__“Damn!” he said in his best aggravated tone._ _

__“What’s wrong? Are you out of fuel?”_ _

__“No. The engine needs a tuneup.” The engine died._ _

__“Oh, for pity’s sake,” said Camille crossly. “Let me drive.” She got out of the car. Dwayne reached over and locked the door. Then he locked his own. He restarted the car and rolled a short distance._ _

__‘WHAT THE HELL?” she shrieked._ _

__“Your mother is fine, nothing wrong. We just had to get you back here. Go see Fidel.” Dwayne shouted as he drove away._ _

__“What?” she asked nobody in particular. She looked around and sure enough, there was the motorcycle. And Fidel was over by a clump of palm trees. Someone was with him. Had he actually managed to drag the chief out to a crime scene? All right, it would do nobody any good if she threw a tantrum in front of the boss, even if he was a useless idiot. She stalked over to the palm trees._ _

__“Fidel! What’s going on?” Camille froze when she was who was with Fidel._ _

__“Sorry, sir, gotta go, call if you need a ride.” Fidel said, sprinting toward the motorcycle. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Don’t worry, Camille, nothing happened to your mother.”_ _

__“FIDEL!” two voices shouted in perfect unison._ _

__Camille turned on Richard in a fury. “What the hell are you playing at? This is the second time I’ve had to change my plans and race home because of you.”_ _

__“Me? I didn’t—”_ _

__“What happened to my mother? There was an accident, now there wasn’t an accident? And why am I stuck here on a beach? With you!”_ _

__“I don’t know why you’re here. Your mother is fine. I passed the bar this morning and I could see her setting up for the day.”_ _

__“Then why the message that she’d been injured?”_ _

__“I have absolutely no idea.”_ _

__Suddenly it dawned on Camille that Richard had no reason to be on a beach in Saint Marie on a Tuesday. “What are you doing here?”_ _

__“Looking at a crime scene. Fidel asked for my help.”_ _

__“Crime scene?”_ _

__“Yes, the body was found… ” Richard gestured vaguely toward the trampled vegetation._ _

__“What body? When? Wait a minute. That is NOT a crime scene.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“What’s missing, Richard?”_ _

__“Well, the body, obviously, but it’s been taken away.”_ _

__“No. Tape. Fidel uses tons of the stuff. If this were a crime scene, there’d be tape all around the area.”_ _

__“Oh, yeah. You’re right. No tape.”_ _

__“So then what ARE you doing here?”_ _

__“Feeling like the victim of some kind of joke?”_ _

__“Not here as in HERE. Here as in Saint Marie.”_ _

__“Holiday. I had some leave time.”_ _

__“Holiday? You’re taking a holiday here on Saint Marie? You hated it here. What were you thinking?”_ _

__“I wasn’t thinking. That is, I didn’t think it through. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I booked it on an impulse. My uncle died and—never mind, it’s a long story. Look, I don’t know what the boys were playing at. I’m sorry they ruined your holiday. I guess they were trying to help, but …” he shrugged and took out his phone. “I’ll call a taxi to get us back to town if I can get a signal.”_ _

__Camille watched Richard trudge toward the road. She heard him mutter something about great romantic gestures and idiotic notions._ _

__“Richard, wait.”_ _

__He sighed, “What?”_ _

__“Why Saint Marie?”_ _

__“Because the caravans at Clacton were all booked? It doesn’t matter.”_ _

__“Yes it does.”_ _

__“Fine, let’s complete the humiliation. I came back to see you. I missed you. I needed to know … I hoped… At first, after I booked the flight, I thought I must be out of my mind. But then it started to form into an idea. I imagined how it would be. I’d get here and you’d be pleased to see me, and I’d be able to stay. And then I wouldn’t end up alone with my puzzles and books. I’d have you. I’d have everything.”_ _

__Of all the responses Richard might have expected, he didn’t expect this. Camille started to giggle._ _

__“You always did enjoy my discomfort,” he said bitterly._ _

__“No. That isn’t it. You didn’t ask where I was going on my holiday.”_ _

__“Where?”_ _

__“London.”_ _

__“London? Really?”_ _

__“Yes, London. I missed you, too. Maman and I fought about you. She said I should go to London and get you out of my system. She said you wouldn’t want me. But that isn’t how I imagined it would be. In my version, I’d show up on your doorstep on a rainy evening. And you’d be pleased to see me. You’d ask me in, offer me tea. And ask me to stay.”_ _

__“So you were going to London while I was coming here?”_ _

__Camille nodded._ _

__Richard chuckled, “Like ships that pass in the night. Well, airplanes. I suppose we shouldn’t be too angry at the boys for their antics, then.”_ _

__“No, I suppose not. You came all this way… you never do anything impulsive, yet you… to see me. Then you must really…” She looked at him in amazement._ _

__“Yes, I really do.” Richard smiled and took her hands in his. He kissed her hands and then held them against his heart. “I love you, Camille. I don’t think it will rain this evening, but if you want to show up on my doorstep, I’m staying at The Grotto. Room 312. They have excellent room service and can supply a decent cup of tea. And I will definitely ask you to stay.”_ _

__When Dwayne and Fidel stopped the car at the beach, they saw Richard and Camille standing on the beach wrapped in each other’s arms._ _

__Dwayne sighed and said, “Oh, thank God. I really wasn’t looking forward to locking them in a cell.”_ _


End file.
